by Jenni James
Disoriented, Catherine glanced over to Sophia. Her eyes were wide and full of questions Catherine had no intention of answering anytime soon.
She did the only sensible thing. “Of course. I would be delighted.”
As if her fantasy had become real, Hamson pulled her toward him and then nestled her hand in the crook of his elbow. They walked several steps around guests until they came to a clearing where the people were scarce. Then he halted his steps and looked at her for a moment, truly taking it all in, as if he were witnessing a miracle of sorts. And perhaps he was. Heaven knew she certainly felt that way, being on his arm like this after such a long time.
Hamson’s gaze grew warmer, and his faint dimple peeped out. “Thank you for walking with me. I know of nothing more perfect for my happiness than this exact circumstance.”
Catherine flushed again and then glanced away before feeling brave enough to meet his eyes once more.
“Forgive me.” He cleared his throat. “I am embarrassing you with my flattery when we should be conversing instead.” He stood a bit straighter and then declared with sincerity, “Before we continue on, there is something I feel I must express. I offer my condolences for the loss of your husband. I hear he was an excellent man. It must have been very painful for you.”
Yes. Without warning, an unexpected feeling of shame swept through her, and she attempted to understand where it came from before replying, “Thank you. You are too kind. He was a very remarkable man.”
“And how are you?” Thankfully, his steps began to pick up again. “Have you been able to rally your spirits this past year? Or have you not recovered fully?”
How could she answer such a thing? Does one ever recover from the death of someone else? “I am not at all prepared to reply at the moment, though I can assure you, I am very much recovered. Of course I am, or I would have not come to London.”
Those eyes seemed to tug at her for an age before he said, “Forgive me once more. I am making a complete cake of myself. Here I am, reuniting with an old friend, and everything is coming out all sixes and sevens. Perhaps we should discuss lighter things.” Suddenly, as if he remembered they were attending a ball, he asked, “Would you care to dance?”
She shook her head and looked away. “No, thank you. It is nice to walk with you. Even if we are to speak of uncomfortable truths, it is better to be here like this than amongst several other people at the moment.” Catherine could feel a faint blush rising to her cheeks.
“I fear—I hardly know if you remember me. It has been a few years now.”
“I certainly recall you.” She smiled and then glanced down, not sure what to do.
“So how do you get on? How was—forgive me if I ramble. I am not certain how to speak with you.”
“Nor I you.” She unexpectedly laughed. “It is all rather stumbling about, is it not?”
“More than you know. Mostly because I do not want this to end, yet I do not even know how to begin. It is as though spring has truly shone herself here in London, and that glimmer of hope at finding you again has made it difficult to converse.”
She took a deep breath. “Lord Hamson, allow me to be frank. Though our friendship grew quickly during my season, in retrospect, we spent only a bit of time together. Nevertheless, may I impress upon you how much I enjoyed that period in my life? How much joy those few short months brought me? Is this something a widow may say? I do not know my place in society now, and am rather confused by it all.”
He grinned and swept her out the door to an adjoining drawing room. There were a few smatterings of people around, but it was much quieter in here. Lord Hamson took her across the way to a couple of vacant chairs toward the back. “Would you sit with me and let us become acquainted again?”
“I would be most happy to, now that we are out of that room and away from all the prying eyes.”
“Good, good.” He waited until she had made herself comfortable and then began. “I too enjoyed our time together. You were by far the most interesting of the misses who came out your year. Nay, not just that year—all years, for I have never met your equal.”
“Thank you.” She chuckled and caught his attentive eye. “‘Interesting’ may be the perfect word for it.”
“Oh, bosh! You should know I had no intention of the remark coming off in such a way. You kept my interest very much during that time.” He took a deep breath. “There are so many things I wish to ask you, but I do not want to seem presumptuous.”
She waved her hand. “Lord Hamson, we are old friends, you and I. Pray, ask me anything. If it makes me uncomfortable, I shall tell you.”
“You have not altered a bit.”
“Neither have you,” she was quick to respond.
“Nay. I am losing my hair!” He looked chagrined.
Though she could not see at all what he was speaking of, it caused her to laugh anyway. “What a ridiculous thing to say to a lady.”
“Is it? My vanity may not support itself much longer if I continue to look more and more like my father.”
All she noticed were the same kind eyes, the dashing smile with the rascally dimple, his strong jaw.
“Good heavens! I promise you, women do not give one fig for a man’s hair. We care so much about his character and charms and kindness to others, the least in our thoughts is something that trivial.”
“What a wonderfully fascinating answer. What about you?” he asked. “Do you have a skaggle of children now running around at home?”
“Children!” Catherine snickered. “Oh, how I wish. That would have made my days much more enjoyable in the country had I such creatures to look after.”
He gave her a quizzical look, but thankfully, did not inquire further. Instead, he asked, “How was Kent and married life? I often thought of you.”
“Did you?” The bittersweet feeling of such an admission was almost unbearable. She took a deep breath and then said earnestly, “Lord Hamson, I do not dream of knowing what your intentions were four years ago. However, I would like you to understand how deeply sorry I was to have caused you any pain, if I did.”
He looked toward the rug and rubbed his lips together. She had not one notion what was going on in his mind, but the silence was certainly deafening.
Catherine held her breath, and then he spoke.
“I was wounded—I cannot tell a falsehood about such a thing. Your engagement came about so suddenly, I could not believe it had occurred. We had formed a bit of a bond, you and I. Then in the next moment, it was shattered.”
Four years of wondering if he had ever favored her were answered at this silly ball. “Thank you for your admissions. For my part, I wanted so much to do what would please my parents, I accepted Lord Romney, though the question of you and your intentions always remained.” She clenched her hands around her fan. “I am sure you are aware I did not have a choice in the matter. Lord Romney’s proposals did not require a dowry of my parents. Rather, he paid a very handsome sum for my hand, and it has blessed my family greatly, s o I cannot regret what happened.”
“Yes, but he was as old as your grandfather.”
She closed her eyes briefly, her heart twisting. “Forgive me, but I cannot speak of this further. I find some things are more painful than I imagined them to be.”
“I beg your pardon. I see that you were indeed attached to him. I am the one to request forgiveness. And yes, he has passed on, and my words will have pained you deeply. I am a halfwit indeed to speak of this to you.”
“No. Please do not become anxious and talk of yourself in this manner. You do not understand. When I can speak of it further, I shall reveal more, but for now, let us converse of happier things. Tell me about you. What has happened since I saw you last?”
“Very well.” He took another deep breath. “I have not married yet, as you can see.”
“Yet?” She gave a shy grin. “Do I hear a bit of hesitation?” When his brows went up in shock, she asked the next most obvious question with as mu
ch of a smile as she could muster. “Who is the fortunate girl? And does she know you are interested?”
His jaw dropped slightly, but he recovered quickly enough. “Miss Hemming unquestionably knows I am interested. In fact, I was to bring up the subject of marriage tonight. Though, when you walked in, I must confess I was most eager to say hello, and I had forgotten my plans until this moment.”
Her heart clenched painfully, yet it felt an obligation for the plight of the girl expecting his proposals. Whatever is he doing here with me? Catherine put her hand to her cheek. “Good heavens. You must go to her at once.” She shooed him with her fan. “Go and do not waste another moment on me. How horrid of me to closet you away like this.” Then another despicable thought emerged. “Why, you no doubt have scores of dances promised to the young misses here tonight as well!”
Sheepishly, he winced. “Yes, in fact, in the next ten minutes or so, I am promised to another dance with yet a different young lady. Would you mind terribly if we did end this and I behaved in a more gentlemanly way?”
She smiled. “I would not mind at all. Thank you so much for taking the time to speak with me. I would have been an uncomfortable mess had you not put me at ease as you have.”
“Ease? I nearly offended you into running away.”
She shook her head. “What drivel. No, I will not be brought into such nonsense as this. However, please note that I am so very grateful to have been reunited with my old friend.” Her chest felt heavy as she admitted to herself it was most likely the last time they would speak together. “You have made this short trip so much more complete. Now, go and make Miss Hemming superbly happy—and all of the other young ladies who are eager to stand up with you.” She thought her fan would break with the force of her hands crushing it. It would be better if he left now, and hurry it up before her mind began to wish for him to stay.
“Just a moment. Short trip? Are you not intending to stay long in London?”
“Three more weeks. I am staying only a month with my stepson and his wife.”
“And then?”
Why was he questioning her so? “I move to Bath.”
“Well then, I am very pleased to have spotted you this evening.” He rose with a smile and took her hand. “Please give my best wishes to your family.”
“Yes, I will be certain to.” She watched as his broad-shouldered form wound its way through the dozen or so people in the room and back out toward the ballroom.
With a brave face, she turned in her seat and sat up a little straighter, wondering what twist of fate would bring her to him now only to watch him join himself to another. Giving her a taste of her own medicine, no doubt.
However, she should not be envious, or unkind. Love certainly suited Lord Hamson extremely well. It would be good for her to endeavor to recall how in love with Miss Hemming he appeared to be. Catherine had experienced her marriage, and now it looked as though Lord Hamson would fare much better with his future. Which was how it should be, especially as he implied he did suffer at her hand. He truly deserved every happiness because of her thoughtlessness toward him.
Catherine’s gloved hands trembled, and she quickly clutched them tighter around her fan so it would not be obvious. Yet they would not stop.
For years, she had tamped down her pining for that particular lord whilst hearing—however sweetly meant—how very much she never would compare to another woman. That she would never be as great as her husband’s late wife.
Indeed, no matter what happened four years ago, if Catherine understood anything now, it was definitely that she knew her place. Though some called her pretty, she was reminded day to day that her face was not enough. And she could attest to how continually repeated phrases of worthlessness can eat at a person until they are but a fragile shell beneath the appearance of an angel.
She had mastered the art of smiling through numbness, yet why she would begin trembling today, she would never know. Now was the time to bring in her small cloak of dignity and carry on as always, serene and grateful for whatever she had. She did not need more, she did not deserve more, so it was foolish to hope for something that would never be hers.
Catherine kept her focus toward the rear of the room, her back straight as she wiped at the nonsensical tears of pity. It did not matter—none of it did. Soon she would be far away from London and living in a little place of no consequence, where one with her lacking manners and abilities and mind should be. Shut out and quieted and watching those much worthier than her live their lives.
In fact, if she were entirely honest about the situation, she would not sit in shame and instead, marvel at how perfect the new Lord Romney’s timing had been. For had they arrived a month earlier, Lord Hamson might have imagined himself eager to see her again and possibly saddled himself with one of the silliest, most inconsequential women in all of England. A woman so horridly low, her own husband could not bear the thought of touching her and creating offspring that would be put up against the fine specimen he had already produced with his dear impeccable late wife.
She blinked back stubborn tears, took a few calming breaths, and willed herself to smile and be grateful for Miss Hemming and her ability to capture Lord Hamson’s heart. For Catherine knew for a fact that having been a horrid wife to one man, no other could ever truly want her.
CHAPTER FOUR:
George paced the wooden floor of his rather large study in his home on Upper Brook Street. With him was Lord Perceval, the oldest of his closest comrades, as well as Lord Atten and Lord Compton. All three of them gawked at his unusual manner.
“I tell you, I was less than a day from asking Miss Hemming’s father for her hand. One solitary day.” He ran his fingers through his blond hair and then stopped. He pointed at Perceval. “At your ball, no less. And now what?” He began to pace again.
“Cease this continual motion at once,” Compton grumbled as he sat down in a wide leather chair. “You are ensuring we will all become ill. Indeed, your anxiety is oddly catching.”
“I cannot sit down until I know what it is I should do.”
Atten shook his head. “Now wait a moment. I have lost part of this conversation, I am certain. You were actually going to offer for Miss Hemming’s hand at the ball?”
“Yes.” George paled. “No. Not at the ball—not to her papa, if that is what you mean.”
“That is precisely what he means!” Perceval pushed off from the side wall where he had been observing them all. “Confound it, man. Atten is correct—we have no notion as to what you are speaking of. If you wish to align yourself with the chit, then do so, though heaven forbid, please do the Hemmings a favor and speak the King’s English when you do. Whatever this sputtering nonsense is, I will never know.”
Compton snorted, and Atten outright laughed. “Tis true, we cannot understand above two sentences that have come out of your mouth.” He pointed to the chair behind Lord Hamson’s desk. “Have a seat and explain again, in layman’s terms, whatever you are trying to convey.”
George covered his face with his hands and plopped into his chair. He knew he was acting completely contrary to his normal respected behavior, but he could not help himself. “What am I to do?”
Atten spoke. “Let us perhaps start at the beginning of this strange tale. Are you against offering for the chit now? What has happened?”
Perceval pulled out the chair next to Compton’s and squeezed his larger form into it. “No, the man is not against it, are you, Hamson?”
“Then why are you going on in such a juvenile manner?” Compton asked.
George took a deep breath and looked at all three of them. “Lord Romney’s widow.”
Atten blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“His wits have gone a begging, have they not?” Compton laughed. “I vow, I have never seen you in such a state, Hamson.”
George closed his eyes and attempted once more to make sense. “No, Miss Poleton.”
“Whom are we speaking of now?” Perceva
l looked at him as if he had escaped from Bedlam.
Atten shook his head. “Pray, do not tell us. I am swiftly becoming afraid of the answer.”
Compton continued to burst into guffaws. “No, do not halt this now. I have never laughed so hard in my life.”
Perceval looked genuinely confused. “So is it a widow, Miss Poleton, or Miss Hemming? Who exactly are we speaking of again?”
Atten patted George’s shoulder and sat down on the other side of him. “No wonder you are confused, lad.”
They will never understand. He took a deep breath and tried again, “Miss Poleton is Lady Romney, the Earl of Huntingdon’s very young, very beautiful widow. Miss Hemming is the gel I was about to offer for, except Perceval invited Lady Romney to the ball. Four years ago, I nearly lost my heart to the young Miss Poleton before her father accepted Romney’s suit and wed the girl to him within a fortnight. Now do you understand my quandary?”
One eyebrow of Compton’s rose. “You are still pining for the widow, then?”
“No. I do not know. There was a time when all I could think of was her. But so much has happened between us now that I do not know if she would ever consider a suit from me.”
“And what does your mama think of the young widow?” asked Perceval. “Surely she cannot support such an endeavor over Miss Hemming.”
“You are quite right.” George frowned a little. “Honestly, I have not asked her. But she would be much more willing to accept Miss Hemming than the dowager countess, I am sure.”
Atten leaned against the wall. “What does this conversation signify? Who do you care for more, Hamson? That is all that any one of us should concern ourselves over—not what his mama thinks, or society, or any of that. Which one do you prefer?”
“That is just the thing. I do not know—I hardly know the woman Miss Poleton has become. However, I have obviously been courting Miss Hemming these past few weeks. If I do not offer for her hand, it would be very gauche of me, would it not?”
Atten shrugged. “Why? Sure, there would be gossip, and the right thing to do would be to marry the chit, but why? Why must you be as unhappy as you have seen our parents’ arrangements? Think of your offspring and their security. Would it not be better for everyone if you do not marry the gel?”